Matthew 21:28-32 · The Parable of the Two Sons
It's Your Funeral
Matthew 21:28-32
Sermon
by Roger G. Talbott
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Today people in our society are less and less willing to completely leave things to the "experts." Patients insist that their doctors talk to them about the options for treatment and include the patient as a full partner in making the final decision. The computer software stores are full of programs that allow people to draft simple legal documents like wills and to keep financial records and fill out tax forms like an accountant. People are saying to doctors, "It's my body." They are saying to lawyers and accountants, "It's my business and my future." They are saying to auto mechanics, "It's my car." Couples who want to get married say to me, "It's our wedding." Very few people say, "It's my funeral." Why am I talking about all of this today? So that I can give you a piece of advice and preach a short sermon.

First, the advice. It's nothing you haven't heard before. Do your next-of-kin a favor and write down your wishes for your funeral service. Don't, whatever you do, tell them not to have a funeral. I'm sorry to inform you of this; it may be your funeral but your funeral is not for you; it's for the people who love you. If they think they don't need some formal way to say good-bye, then let them decide that. Otherwise, at least give them the option of spending half an hour worshiping God while surrounded by the people who love them.

However, in planning that funeral, it would probably help them to worship and to be healed if they knew your favorite hymns and your favorite Bible passages. You might even write something to be read to your loved ones at the funeral. Some people even make audiotape or videotape messages.

That's my advice. Now here is the sermon. This sermon revolves around planning a funeral for someone else.

When I sit down with a family to plan a funeral for someone who has died, I may ask if they have any particular passages from the Bible that they want included in the service. If it is to be held in the church, I may ask about hymns they would like played or sung. The most difficult task, however, is determining what to say about the person who has died. No one pretends that we can adequately sum up a person's life in five or ten minutes. However, it is helpful to understand the purpose of the words at a funeral. Some funeral services divide what we usually call the "sermon" into three parts: the Naming, the Witness, and the Sermon. The Naming usually includes the kind of information you might put on a resume or into a biography: when and where the deceased was born; the name of his or her spouse and the names of any children; jobs that person held and places the person called "home"; the person's hobbies and membership in organizations; and maybe a word about the circumstances of his or her death. The Witness is more personal. We may speak of the deceased's courage or love or sense of humor or friendship or sense of responsibility or contributions to the community. In the sermon, we would speak about the promise of eternal life and the promise that those who mourn shall be comforted. These three sections can be divided among three speakers; perhaps a partner or a coworker could do the "naming" -- talk about the public life of the deceased; a close friend or family member could bear witness to the private life; and the family's pastor could preach a sermon. I usually offer families this option. In practice, however, even people who are accustomed to public speaking find it difficult to speak when their grief is fresh and sharp. I often read the speech someone else has written but cannot find the voice to say. Usually the family just asks me to say something so I weave the naming, witness and sermon into one.

How do we "name" someone -- tell who that person is -- in a way that is both honest and personal? And how do we witness to the grace of God in someone's life -- again, in an honest way?

The words that are spoken at a Christian funeral, whether we call them a sermon, a naming, or a witness cannot be characterized as a eulogy. A eulogy praises a person who has died. In Christian worship, we praise God, not people. That does not keep us from saying good things about the deceased. It does mean that we see the grace of God in a person's life and it is the business of a funeral sermon to point out that grace.

I think it is important to say that, because a lot of people hate eulogies at funerals, and rightly so. Not many of them are honest. In fact, one of my nightmares is to miss the mark as widely as the poor preacher did at a funeral for a relative of a friend of mine. She said the minister went on about what a cheerful man cousin Dan was -- how he always had a smile on his face. Most of those assembled must have wondered about whom he was talking. After all, my friend said, she learned the meaning of the word "curmudgeon" when she looked it up in the dictionary and saw a picture of Dan's face.

How do we witness to the grace of God honestly and without judgment at a funeral? By remembering that at every funeral we are probably burying one or the other of the two sons in this parable.

Some people apparently said "no" to their heavenly Father all of their lives. They certainly said "no" to the church. They never went. Some of them were even contemptuous of what they called "organized religion." (Which only shows how little they ever knew about it. If you ever find an organized religion, please let me know, I'd like to join.) Some even said "no" to Jesus Christ. There are some preachers who say that such people don't deserve a Christian burial. My feeling is that whether a burial is Christian or not Christian depends more on the people who are doing the burying than on the person being buried.

That is precisely the position you may find yourself in someday. You may have to bury someone close to you who has been a proud pagan. What do you do?

In some cases, Paul can help us out: "For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous in God's sight, but the doers of the law who will be justified" (Romans 2:13).

In other words, there are many who have not professed the Christian faith who practiced it. They are like the son who said to his father that he wouldn't go to work in the vineyard and then went anyway.

There are, of course, those who not only didn't profess the Christian faith, but who did not live exemplary lives either. Some people make rather spectacular failures of their lives. Yet, there is always something that one can say about the grace of God in a person's life. Indeed, if you look hard enough, the spectacular failures have sometimes done some spectacularly good things. I think, for example, of a story told me by an old retired minister when I was preparing for the ministry.

He graduated from seminary just before World War I and he was appointed to a church in a very small town. He had been there only a couple of weeks when he received the call every new minister dreads -- the call to do his first funeral. The person who had died was not a member of his church. She was, in fact, a woman with a very bad reputation. Her husband was a railroad engineer who was away from home much of the time. She had rented rooms in their house to men who worked on the railroad and rumor had it that she rented more than just rooms when her husband was away. The young preacher, faced with his first funeral, found no one who had a good word to say about this woman, until he entered the small old-fashioned grocery store on the day before the funeral. He began to talk to the store owner about his sadness that the first person he would bury would be someone about which nothing good could be said. The store owner didn't reply at first and then, in his silence, he appeared to make a decision. He took out his store ledger and laid it on the counter between him and the preacher. He opened the ledger at random and, covering the names in the left-hand column, he pointed to grocery bills written in red -- groceries that people had bought on credit -- and then the column that showed the bill had been paid.

He said, "Every month, that woman would come in and ask me who was behind in their grocery bills. It was usually some family who had sickness or death -- or some poor woman trying to feed her kids when her husband drank up the money. She would pay their bill and she made me swear never to tell. But, I figure now that she is dead, people ought to know -- especially those who benefited from her charity who have been most critical of her."

"Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you."

If you look hard enough, you can find good in just about anyone. I say "just about" because I'll leave open the possibility that someone's life may be completely devoid of good, but I haven't found that person yet.

I have come close on occasion. The saddest cases are those who haven't been great sinners or saints -- but whose lives were just mediocre. I sometimes think about how, in the book of Revelation, the Spirit of Christ condemns the church in Laodicea because they "are neither cold nor hot." Lukewarmness -- mediocrity -- makes Jesus gag (Revelation 3:14-16).

Yet even these people always have good intentions. I remember one of the first funerals I did. I tried to follow the old preacher's example and find something good about the woman who had died. I asked nearly everyone. No one, including her own son, had anything good to say about her. They didn't have anything bad to say, either. It was just as if she had not lived. To some extent this is the fault of the people closest to the person who has died. They just haven't paid attention. I am well aware that more than half the stories I hear from people before a funeral are more about the person telling the story than they are about the deceased.

I sat in the woman's living room talking to her son, and noticed a poem in a frame on the wall. It was a familiar poem about wanting to live in a house on the side of the road and to be a friend to the human race. I asked the son about the poem and he said it was his mother's favorite. That was what she had wanted to do with her life. As I heard the cars whizzing past on the highway outside the front door, I knew that she had chosen to fulfill at least part of that ideal -- she did, indeed, live in a house on the side of the road.

So, in that funeral sermon, I talked not so much about who the woman was as about what she wanted to be.

Is that such faint praise that it damns the person just as effectively as saying, "Here was a totally wasted life"? Isn't saying that "so-and-so wanted to be a better person than he or she was but didn't have the moral courage to live it," just saying that this person is like the son in the parable who said he would go to work in the vineyard and didn't?

Yes, it is.

Well, isn't this parable a condemnation of people like that? Doesn't Jesus ask us, "Who did the father's will? The son who said he wouldn't work and then did it anyway or the son who said he would and didn't?" And isn't the answer obvious?

Yes, the son who said he wouldn't work and did it anyway did the father's will and the one who said he would go and didn't did not do the father's will, but to say this parable condemns that second son is reading too much into it.

In the first place, note that this parable is about two sons. Jesus only tells two parables about a father who has two sons. The other is the parable of the prodigal son. He tells several parables about a vineyard. We heard one last week about the workers who were all paid the same regardless of how long they worked. The very next passage is another parable about servants in a vineyard. This, however, is not a parable about workers or servants, but about a parent and his children.

If you hired someone to do a certain job and he said he would do it and didn't, you probably would fire him. If you told your son or daughter to do something and he or she agreed but didn't do it, you would not fire your own child. You can't.

Notice, Jesus doesn't say what happened to the two sons. If he had wanted to condemn the second son, Jesus might have concluded with him being tortured, like the unforgiving servant. The parable just ends. It is left to us to imagine what the father did with these two sons.

That, my friends, is exactly the position we are in at a funeral. We know two things when someone dies. The first is: This is a child of God. The second is: All of God's children are loved equally well. There is one big thing that we do not know. We don't know what the Heavenly Parent does with a child who has disobeyed God's will. Nor do we know what the Heavenly Parent does with a child who has insulted God.

If we heard this parable with Middle Eastern ears, we would be shocked and scandalized by the first son's outright refusal to obey his father. This is not a typical American household where it is common for a father to say to his son, "Hey, Kid! You goin' to take out the garbage like your mother askt 'cha or what?"

And the son, watching MTV, shouts back, "Hey! get off my back! I'm busy, okay?"

If that scene is familiar you may want to write down the reference for this passage: If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey his father and mother, who does not heed them when they discipline him, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his town at the gate of that place. They shall say to the elders of his town, "This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a glutton and a drunkard." Then all the men of the town shall stone him to death. So you shall purge the evil from your midst; and all Israel will hear, and be afraid (Deuteronomy 21:18-21).

The point is, sons did not tell their fathers that they weren't going to work in the fields. The father would be disgraced by such behavior. The first son is not blameless in this story.

Neither son is blameless in this story. That is the way it is in our relationship to God. That is true even when we look at the lives of great saints. Everyone has feet of clay. Martin Luther was a man who needed enemies like other men need friends. John Wesley was an utter failure as a husband.

Almost always, when I do a funeral for a man or woman who has been a pillar of the church, I can see people in the congregation who have ambivalent feelings at this person's passing. Often, they are sitting in the front row. It can sometimes be a terrible burden to be married to or to be the child of a very good man or woman. Sometimes their greatest virtues can be the biggest burden we can bear.

A friend of mine told me of the recent passing of his grandmother at the age of 96. The little church where she had worshipped for most of her very long life was full of people. Maybe a third of them were family. The rest were people who had known her as their Sunday school teacher, their neighbor, their friend. They knew her as the woman who ran the rummage sales and who counted the offering every Sunday. She was always there at that little church, just as she had always been there for her children and her grandchildren.

My friend said that when he visited her in the nursing home, she had been telling one of her nurses about some of her 20 great-grandchildren. The nurse wondered how she could remember all their names. His grandmother said, "Because I pray for them every day."

My friend, who is a minister, did not preach the sermon at that funeral. That was the job of his grandmother's pastor, who also was his parents' pastor. He did say the prayer of thanksgiving at the end. He prayed about how much his grandmother had loved all of her family and friends and then briefly acknowledged that that love sometimes held on too tightly. In that moment, he said something that needed to be said. His grandmother's children and grandchildren had sometimes felt that they couldn't pursue some of their dreams because to do so would have meant leaving this loving person behind and they didn't want to hurt her.

It's all right to tell the truth at a funeral, as long as we tell it gently. No one is perfect. Indeed, we are all far from being perfect. We all live contradictory lives. Some folks seem cold and selfish on the outside, and hide their great passion and love in such a way that it only emerges in secrecy or in their dreams. Others of us make public professions of faith and try to build reputations as people who are faithful to God, but we fail to live up to our ideals in some very important areas of our lives.

Yet, we are all children of God. Someday, someone you know very well will die. I hope that whoever is in charge of the service will ask your help in preparing it and will ask you specifically what you would like said about this person. You can be loving and you can be honest at the same time. You can find the good in the worst life. You can find high aspirations in the most wasted life. You can admit the faults of the most exemplary life and celebrate the grace of God in every life, because we are all children of God. Those who outwardly reject God and secretly obey, as well as those who profess faith in God and desire to please God and fail to live by that faith or to do God's will, are all children of God. It is not for us to judge. It is for us to look at those lives, love them, learn from them and then live our own lives by God's grace as well, knowing that God accepts us, just as we are. Amen.

CSS Publishing Company, GOOD NEWS FOR THE HARD OF HEARING, by Roger G. Talbott